


The Wayward Star

by gamgees



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fourth Age, Gen, Valinor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29286546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamgees/pseuds/gamgees
Summary: A daughter of Arwen is swept across the Sea.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Where art thou gone? The day is bare,  
>  The sunlight dark, and cold the air!  
>  Tinúviel, where went thy feet?  
>  O wayward star! O maiden sweet!  
>  O flower of Elfland all too fair  
>  for mortal heart! The woods are bare!  
>  The woods are bare!_
> 
> — The Lay of Leithian

The swan disappeared beneath the Sea. Ariel stared at the rippling water, appalled. “But how will I get back?” she asked.

The water gave no answer.

She waited a moment. And waited. When it became clear that no answer would come, Ariel gulped nervously and turned to take stock of her surroundings.

She was no longer in Middle-earth.

A pale beach fanned out around her, uninterrupted by random shrubs. Behind her, the unbroken sand rose up a steep dune into a sudden shock of greenery.

There seemed to be no one around.

Ariel considered her options. The shores of Lindon were gone over the horizon, but her way home lay directly before her. She could swim.

She could also drown.

Ariel considered it. She would not like to die by drowning. Not yet! Ideally, she would die old and wrinkly, fat as a mûmak and surrounded by children and grandchildren, and then be buried in the Hallows.

So she picked a direction and began to walk.

Her stockings squelched with every step she took. Ariel paused to unlace her boots. She stepped out of them and tipped the leathers over, shaking seawater and sand out of the waterlogged soles.

Then she continued on her way, barefoot but for her sodden legwear.

The sand was warm, though mushy from the swash. Her damp dress chilled in the wind.

Ariel stayed close to the Sea. The water lapped at her ankles in a constant cycle before receding.

She was in Aman, but where? Eressëa? Alqualondë?

The Sea hummed, pleasant and useless. Ariel kept her eyes peeled for a tower.

Ahead of her, the beach stretched out far into the distance, several leagues of shimmering sand. No odd sprouts of grass disrupted the expanse. It was beautiful but strange, perfect in a way that did not seem natural to her.

Overhead, the Sun climbed its mountain in the sky. By the time it reached its peak, Ariel’s clothes had dried well enough to unstick from her skin, but the landscape remained the same.

She walked for some time. The Sun had begun its descent. The soles of her feet itched, irritated by hours of treading on sand.

The Sea kept her company, singing wordless songs. Ariel found herself at ease enough to hum along. She had no reason to be afraid. Had she ever been afraid before? She walked in the Uttermost West!

At most, Ariel felt inconvenienced to be here. Her stockings were ruined, and she was thirsty and hungry, and her father would never let her go on an adventure again, or ever near the Sea again.

They had always worried the Sea would steal her away.

But Ariel was not overly fussed. She was a daughter of Men. The Valar would have to send her back.

In the distance, something twinkled.

It was the first change in her static path. Her breath caught in her throat, and Ariel hastened her steps to see it more clearly.

A tower!

It lay perhaps a league and half away, rising from somewhere over the hill to her left. Where exactly it rose from, Ariel could little discern, but that she could see it at all was a clear indication of its height. The steeple glinted brilliantly in the sunset.

She picked up her pace. Her boots swung by the laces at her side, occasionally bouncing off and scuffing the other. The Sun drew ever nearer.

The sky had turned a blood orange, as rich a colour as the exotic fruits that travelling merchants brought from the Rhûn. Against the bruised backdrop, the distant white tower looked like a silver knife cutting through the peel.

Ariel’s stomach grumbled in displeasure. She would have liked a blood orange. The only thing in her pouch was a rock. She could not eat a rock.

The Sea urged her onward.

A familiar star had risen some time ago from the same direction, outshining even the tower. Ariel recognised it for the Gil-Estel, the guiding light that long ago led her forebears to the Land of Gift.

The sight of it put her ill at ease. A whole day had passed! Word of her disappearance would have reached Eldarion by now. His rangers must be scouring Forlindon in search of her, and, not finding her, venture further northwards, or turn to Harlindon without.

Yet they would not find her there, either.

Her brother would be beyond reason. Ariel might never be permitted out of his sight again. She might even be returned to Gondor before her due. What a fate! Ariel resolved to pin the blame on the Sea.

But first, this thing must be done, so on she went.

In the darkening sky, the tower was a shining beacon, a lighthouse beckoning wanderers abroad. The Sun had set almost entirely when at last her feet carried her to her destination.

It was a bustling port.

White quays stretched out to Sea, undampened by the evendim. The tower lay farther afield, twice as tall as Elostirion and twice as proud. No swan-ships she could see, though many a white barge moored alongside the landing.

She must be on Eressëa.

Elves milled about in numbers the likes of which Ariel had never seen, save perhaps in Lasgalen, not quite as teeming as Harlond by the Anduin, yet neither as quiet as Harlond of Harlindon.

They were unremarkably dressed. Ariel might have seen a mariner in Pelargir dressed in that unadorned linen, or a fisherman in Dol Amroth shod in those plain sandals, but there was a joy to their spirits that was foreign to her.

Ariel stared in wonder. The song of the Sea faded into a quiet thrum, drowned out by the bustle of the harbour. A mariner spotted her and called out a greeting in Sindarin.

“Tinúviel! Tinúviel!”

Ariel laughed.

It was not the first time she had been called by the name, and it would not be the last. Ariel walked in her mother’s likeness, and Arwen’s likeness was not her own.

The proclamation had drawn an audience. She found a number of eyes on her. They had the look of the Sindar, ash brown-haired for the most part and of no great stature. Ariel was taller than many, but she had her mother’s height, and Arwen the Queen Evenstar stood no less tall than her husband.

“Lady Evening Star,” one cried, “how come you hither?”

“Whither have I come?” asked Ariel in turn. Eressëa, she was sure. Their speech she knew to be Grey-elven, and their manner alike to the elves of the Grey Havens. In Alqualondë, she did not think they would speak Sindarin as she knew it.

“Tol Erya,” came the answer, “the Lonely Isle!”

Eressëa! As she thought.

“Well met!” they called. “Well met, Lady!”

“Well met!” Ariel replied, charmed. “But I am not who I look.”

“Undómiel?” they gasped, and “Undómiel!” they exclaimed.

Ariel laughed again. “Her daughter!” And she introduced herself: “For Ariel Dúnadan I am, Aragorn’s daughter, and from Middle-earth I am come.”

Gasps and exclamations arose. “Dúnadan?” she heard, and “Middle-earth?” and “Aragorn the Elfstone?” and “Aragorn the King!”

“Be welcome!” they cried joyously. “Be welcome, Elennor!”

A new name! Ariel loved to receive names. She thought the scribes in Minas Tirith would like this newest one. They had always lamented that her name did not begin with the same star as her brother and sisters.

Invitations were issued and accepted, but first it was decided that she should be brought into their commune. The tower of Avallónë was magnificent to behold, fairer than the Tower of Ecthelion, though not as great.

Inside, the tower was made of the same white stone, studded with pearls and seashells and other glittering rocks fished from the seabed. Scales were carved into the walls with intricate detail, and Ariel ran a fingertip along the ridges, marvelling.

There was no lord who abided here, she was curious to learn. The elves on Eressëa more or less saw to their own affairs. Many were Falathrim who awaited Círdan’s arrival, though some were Noldor who loved the Sea too well to return to their landlocked cities.

Ariel wondered who sorted disputes. Just as the thought came to her, some disagreement was stirred over which lord to send to and where, but the ladies ushered her away before she could try to settle it.

To a high room they went, in the eastern wing of the tower, and Ariel was quickly shown into the bathing chambers. They must have taken in the sorry state of her riding dress and sought to make amends at once.

She perceived the clamshell tub with great delight. The exterior felt real enough, though the interior was pearly-smooth, and the ladies had it filled with hot water and tree oils to banish the smell of saltwater that clung to Ariel’s skin.

Her hair was unwoven, the mithril pins placed in a dish to the side. The brooch on her cloak was likewise removed and set elsewhere with her girdle and pouch before her damp clothes were at last carted off to be washed.

It was a blessed relief to sink into the warmth. Ariel might have fallen asleep, had she been alone. It would be very funny, she thought, to drown in the bath, when she had crossed the entirety of the Sundering Seas with nary a scratch. The irony of it pleased her.

Around the tub, the ladies had begun a hymn to the Lady of the Sea. Ariel did not sing along, but she listened and thought of Tar-Elestirnë, who hated the water but died there.

That would not happen to Ariel.

When she died, if she did not die of old age to please her mother and father, she could only hope it would be in the arms of the ocean. They were as familiar to her as the arms of her own parents.

But not yet. There were still things to be done — like eating!

In quick succession, Ariel was bathed and dressed. Her borrowed gown was simpler than aught she owned in Gondor, or even in Arnor, with closed sleeves and a short trim, embroidered but otherwise unadorned. The lady it belonged to seemed embarrassed by its modesty, but Ariel would have been quite happy in rags, so long as they were dry.

Once she was presentable, they walked her out and down another set of winding stairs and into a lively great hall.

An archway with no doors led into a vaulted chamber, the ceiling low and close. Starlight flooded in through a series of windows that encircled the far side, setting corals to shimmer. A music of voices, light with song and laughter, filled the air.

Ariel observed the elves with great pleasure. The affair reminded her of the joyous feasts held in the Elvenking’s underground halls, though the caverns there wound as ancient roots, dark and deep. Here was a strange timelessness, as grains of sand trapped in sea glass.

The mariner who first greeted her had sprung to his feet at the sight of her. “Araniel,” he said, and, offering his hand: “Let me present you.”

Ariel obligingly placed her hand in his. He was shorter than her by half a head, which made him taller than most of the Wood-elves she knew, who often only reached her chin.

Her escort led her to the high table set upon the raised dais before the open wall. A lord might sit there, if they had one, but Ariel guessed it served visiting ladies just as well.

A long introduction there was given, and warm welcomes received, and so began the feast of the evening.

Every dish came first to Ariel, who happily partook of all, starved from a whole day of walking unfed. The cod roast was delicious, and vegetables topped with colourful roe decorated her plate as well as her belly. There was clam in pickings and stew, and fresh bread baked in prawn oil, and sweet wine and strawberry cake afterwards.

Ariel talked and laughed. Her new friends were eager to learn all comings and goings across the Sea. They asked after their lord, and Ariel told them how she had seen him not two days past, before she set off to Forlindon. Lord Círdan was well but weary, and awaited only Celeborn her great-grandfather and the Elvenking Thranduil, the last of his kinsmen who would not yet part with their land of birth.

They asked after Ariel’s beloved father, who they loved half as well as she loved him. They asked after her beautiful mother, who they loved twice as well as they loved her father. They asked after her beautiful brother, who they grieved to never meet. And they asked after her beloved sisters, whose own fairness they lamented, never to be seen across so vast an ocean.

And then they asked after Ariel herself, and Ariel laughed to say nothing, for there was nothing to say, only that the Sea loved her as well as her own parents loved her, and there could be no greater love than that!

That brought cheers all around, and they sang songs to the Lord of Waters until dawn.

It was very late, or very early, by the time Ariel was returned to her chambers.

Amidst the sunless wind, there was a chill in the room, for all that it was spring. The same ladies who dressed her for the feast undressed her for bed. They must have caught her shivering; a small fire was quickly stoked in the hearth and a thick robe wrapped around her shoulders before they bid her goodnight.

Ariel was finally alone. She rubbed her eyes sleepily and wandered over to the bed. What a day it had been. Perhaps she was in a dream.

A gentle breeze whispered in, stirring her drowsy attention. Sleep tugged dejectedly at Ariel, but she wanted to see the sunrise now.

The sprawling balcony stretched out far enough to fit a table for four with space left over for turns, and overlooked the port of Avallónë and the Great Sea over yonder.

Ariel watched the waves come in and recede. There were familiar shapes bobbing in the water, sleeping seagulls, and far, far over the horizon, the Sun had begun its westward journey.

She was only half awake when she noticed the falling star. No, not a falling star — it was the Star of High Hope.

Addled with sleep, Ariel watched its descent. The star drew closer and closer and at last came to stop upon the quays beneath the tower.

Down below, mariners rushed out to pull the ship into dock. At length, the familiar brilliance seemed to diminish, as though shrouded with something, but it was still bright enough to see a figure disembark from the deck.

Ariel caught a glimpse of blue raiment shimmering, and a flash of golden hair glimmering, and—

Oh.

Belatedly, she remembered Eärendil.

Her feet carried her to bed in a daze. She was convinced now she was dreaming.

The song of the Sea lulled her to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

There were seashells on the ceiling.

Ariel stared at the unassuming treasures with not a little wonder. Had they always been there? Curious recollections of the night before touched her mind.

Oh, she dreamt she was in Aman!

There had been a tireless trek across the sand, and a seafood fare upon the table, and a far-off sunrise across the Sea, and a falling star upon the haven.

What a strange dream!

No sooner had Ariel thought so than the equal strangeness of her surrounds ensnared her consciousness.

Slowly, she sat up on the bed, disturbing the sheets about her. Just as slowly, she began to take note of the multitude of differences in the room.

The walls, most noticeably, were white sandstone instead of grey. A close correspondent was the ceiling, which explained the never-before-seen seashells embellishing the surface.

From the foot of the bed, her chest of possessions was markedly absent, and if Ariel peered inside the unfamiliar dresser, erected by the opposite wall, she could guess well enough that only the same dearth awaited her.

So her unconscious mind had not conjured yesterday’s events. But what a dream, if it had been. What a fine story to be told!

Yet it seemed she was truly in Aman, which might make a finer story yet!

Ariel went to the balcony again. She found the harbour below astir. Market stalls had been erected on the beach, pale yellow sand interrupted by vibrant spurts of colour. Children at play zipped in between the brightly-dyed tents of blues and greens, their elven voices high with youth and glee.

Wonder filled Ariel’s heart at the sound. No elven child had been born in Imladris since her mother, and none in Lothlórien since the days of the Watchful Peace, an Age agone. Most of the Galadhrim had followed their beloved lady over Sea, the great-grandmother Ariel had never met, and few now remained with her great-grandfather in East Lórien.

Only a handful of children had been born anew in Lasgalen since the passing of the Shadow. The Wood-elves there knew their king would one day take ship. Legolas had heard the call of the Sea. He would come, and his father would follow him, and they would follow their king.

Most would plant no new seeds in the forest they grieved to leave behind, but there were those who had brought forth new sprouts, one more memory in a woodland of memories.

Ariel thought it was surely the greater gift to remember. She had laughed and run beneath the Elvenking’s leaves and climbed trees with those new sprouts. For though she was younger, she was taller. Elf-children grew at a snail’s pace.

A knock on the door drew her attention. Ariel bid them enter, and not a moment later, the ladies who had diligently attended her the day before appeared.

Their greetings were cheery. “Good morning! Well, it is noon.”

Ariel matched their cheer. “Good afternoon!”

They cleared the hearth and made the bed and bathed her again to tend her unwashed hair. She was given a selection of dresses to choose from, all as plain as before but variously coloured in greens and blues, yellows and whites, browns and greys. There were no reds.

Ariel chose a blue gown. Once dressed, the ladies went about drying her hair. It took some time, and they passed it in pleasant conversation. Ariel told them the current fashion in Gondor, which was whatever her mother wore. In Arnor, it was whatever Eldarion’s wife wore, and in the kingdoms of Rohan and of Dale, it was whatever her queenly sisters wore.

By and by, Ariel’s hair dried from roots to ends, and one of her companions went to fetch her brooch and girdle. The star was fixed to a silver chain and fastened around Ariel’s neck, and the girdle secured at her hip, a chain of smaller stars connecting to a single white tree.

“For whom is that star, Araniel?” she was asked.

“For my people,” Ariel answered. “It is the star of the Dúnedain.”

“Whence came it?” inquired another, in a worrying tone of voice.

Ariel blinked in confusion, but told them: “From Elendil the Faithful, and to him from Tar-Minyatur.”

That roused evident disquiet. For what reason, Ariel could only begin to guess.

“That star is known to us,” came the strained admission, and no more was said.

Ariel did not pry, but curiosity flared within her. One of the ladies noticed and smiled.

“Put it out of your mind, child,” she was advised, though the following words only served to intrigue her further: “Houses fall, and Ages pass. Grief lingers, but it is feeling and memory.” Then the lady stood and said, “Come! Or shall we send for him? The lord Eärendil is without, and begs an audience.”

All thoughts of the star fled from Ariel’s mind.

“Eärendil!” she exclaimed.

She recalled her dream that was not a dream, and the falling star that was not a falling star.

It was _Eärendil._

Eärendil the Mariner, Eärendil the Blessed — one of the great heroes of Ariel’s childhood!

He was her grandfather. More than that, he was her _great_ -grandfather. For Ariel was Arwen’s daughter, and Arwen Elrond’s daughter, and Elrond Eärendil’s son.

“But what does he want with me?” she cried. “And how long has he been waiting?”

“I know not!” Her reaction seemed to have taken her companions by surprise. “And he is come with the sunrise, and has waited since!”

Ariel’s eyes widened. She rushed to the balcony again. Shocked intakes of air sounded behind her, and when she reached the baluster, a hand wrapped around her arm and pulled her hastily backwards.

“Forgive me!” gasped the lady, and immediately released her. “I feared you would jump!”

“Jump!” Ariel said, startled. “I would die!”

Well, she might have risked it if she fell into the Sea, but it was the sand that would catch her fall here. But she had not planned to jump in the first place! She had only wished to catch a glimpse of Eärendil’s legendary ship.

“It is said that the lady Elwing turns into a swan,” her flustered saviour explained. “I thought you might take flight.”

Ariel remembered the story. “I have not her magic!” she said laughingly.

But, inside, her heart was racing.

_Elwing._

Elwing the White, who was once turned by the King of the Sea into a beautiful swan. She was the wife of Eärendil, and the mother of Elrond, which made her Arwen’s grandmother, and Ariel’s great-grandmother.

And who else? Who else was here?

Ariel knew who was not, but now she thought of who _was._ The White Ship had ferried away the lady Galadriel, and the lord Elrond with her. They were here, somewhere, or elsewhere.

Tol Eressëa was only a small island. There was a larger continent, she knew, a mainland where the Eldar lived and walked side-by-side with the Valar.

And — oh, Celebrían!

Celebrían, her mother’s mother, who had passed over Sea long before Ariel was born. Nay, even longer than that — long before Ariel’s _father_ was born. Long before Ariel was even a thought!

And the Ring-bearers must be here, too, somewhere or elsewhere, if they still lived. Ariel dearly hoped they still lived. And Mithrandir!

Well! Now Ariel was quite determined to meet them all before she left.

She scanned the docks eagerly. There! A ship with a swan on the prow. The sails were said to be silver, but at present they were folded up. Vingilótë was her name, the fabled ship of Eärendil the Mariner.

Not inconsiderable wonderment filled Ariel. “I will go to him,” she said at once.

It was mortifying to think of how long she had kept him waiting. Since sunrise, they said, but it was well past noon.

It was even more mortifying to think of sending for him.

So they brought Ariel down the same winding stairs they had brought her down the night before, but instead taking her to a private receiving room, it was to the same great hall they went.

A crowd had amassed within, perhaps as large as the crowd had been during the feast. There were voices upon voices, but someone spotted Ariel at the entryway and proclaimed, “Tinúviel! Undómiel! Eleniel is come!”

Another name! But Ariel would delight at this newest gift at a later time.

She was taller than almost everyone in the room, so it was not difficult to see over their heads. But even if she had not been, Eärendil’s own height would have singled him out.

He was standing in the far side of the hall, just below the dais. Admirers fenced him on all sides, clamouring for his attention, and a shower of sunrays through the open windows at his back bathed his profile in a wash of golden light.

Ariel had never seen an elf with golden hair before. She thought Eärendil looked very fair in the Sun.

And he was easily a head taller than the tallest elf in the room, for all that he was only half one.

At the proclamation, his head had whipped around to the doorless doorway where Ariel had stopped to gawp. Even across the room, she saw his eyes were blue as the Sea.

“Ariel,” Eärendil breathed.

A hush had fallen over the busy hall. Ariel could hear her own heartbeat, slowing in her chest. Eärendil was staring at her in abject wonder.

Half a heartbeat passed, then he was crossing the room in quick strides. The crowd dutifully parted for him, and soon enough he was standing within arm’s reach.

A great well of curiosity quickly overwhelmed Ariel’s awe. The wonder in Eärendil’s eyes did not abate, but inflate. A thousand expressions seemed to flicker there: sorrow, joy, hope beyond hope, and _love,_ bewilderingly.

But what was this love? He did not know her, and Ariel did not know him.

“I never thought...” Eärendil’s voice was thick with some emotion. Ariel waited with bated breath, struck by such interest she felt as though she should hold in air in anticipation, but he did not finish his sentence.

He pulled her into his arms and embraced her.

Oh!

Ariel had not expected _that._

Eärendil was taller than her father, and broader yet. She might have thought he would feel cold for his daily voyages in the heavens — was not the air freezing, so high up? — but enveloped in his arms, Ariel found, rather, he felt entirely too warm.

In her shock, she had gone very still. Eärendil did not seem discouraged by her lack of reciprocation. When he released her, his eyes roamed her face with immense pleasure, and when his hands came up to cup her cheeks, it was done with utmost tenderness.

“Daughter,” he said with quiet marvel. “Daughter.”

Daughter! But she was. She was. His _only_ one. The realisation caught Ariel unawares. She had thought of him only as her kinsman from afar. She had not thought of what she must have meant to him. For Eärendil should never meet her mother, nor yet her sisters.

He looked and looked at her, and wondrously, he professed, “I never thought to meet you. Long have I watched over you, and your sisters and brother, and their children, and your mother and father, and I knew we should never meet. I knew, yet I hoped, but I never _thought._ But, love, my love, how come you here?”

Ariel found the words after a moment. “By Sea.”

Privately, she was marvelling. Eärendil watched over them! Nightly, by his own account, dusk unto dawn. Her mother would be comforted to hear it. The Evenstar had always loved best the Gil-Estel for whom Ariel’s father had been named in his secreted youth.

“By Sea!” Eärendil’s astonishment was clear as the waters of Belegaer, and he asked her: “And what brought you?”

“The Sea,” answered Ariel.

“The Sea.” This, too, he uttered with voiceless wonder. The astonishment had taken his volume. Eärendil embraced her again. “Would I could enter the Deep to give thanks to the Dweller,” he murmured against her hair, “but why?” And then he pulled away again to look over her in concern. “You are well? You are unhurt?”

“I am well,” said Ariel.

Eärendil looked relieved. He released her then. If he remembered their audience, he did not show it, or did not care.

What did one say to a great-grandfather newly acquainted? Ariel thought of the one she knew, but the one she knew was as close to her heart as her own father was close.

Celeborn had cradled her at birth, had carried her at his hip, had held her hand beneath the trees, had sung her songs to sleep. That love was without thought, even without breath. It was part of her fëa, the ancient silver branch in the tree of her spirit.

Eärendil was not a new branch, but new _found,_ as if long buried in the earth and now dug up.

Ariel would dig them all up, and a forest for her!

But first things first. “Eärendil—”

His face fell.

It was as the Sun shrouded by rain clouds. Ariel wanted to laugh at him, but she kept her hilarity to herself. She thought of her favourite grandfather across the Sea and the stern upbraiding the lord of Lórien would have treated her to if she had ever presumed to call him by his name.

So Ariel corrected her address with all due respect, and not without a newfound rush of affection: “Grandfather,” she said, “do the hobbits still live?”

Eärendil blinked. “The hobbits!” he said. The laughter seemed to have been startled out of him.

“Do they still live?” Ariel pressed.

“They do,” Eärendil told her. “Shall we pay them a visit?”

Ariel gaped. She dared not believe it. “Are they here?” she gasped. But that was entirely too good to be true!

Eärendil’s ocean eyes were full of mirth. “They are!”

So together they went from the tower of Avallónë and round to the greening hill beyond. The sand sloped at a gradual incline and grew biddably denser the closer they drew to dirt and packed earth.

Plains of waving grass greeted them from above, dusted with golden sprinkles of sand here and there, but lush green by far. Sea thrifts and spring quills flowered along the hillside in pink and purple spreads, painting a pastoral scene that might have come straight from one of the idyllic murals that decorated the walls of Imladris.

Ariel thrilled at the sight, though Eärendil seemed not to notice any of it. His eyes seldom strayed from hers, if at all, and he gazed upon her as though she were a flower fairer than the Sun.

Elo! But what was this love? It was a _parent’s_ love, or a second Sun inside her, feeding all things within that were green and growing.

Ariel had seen that look before, in Celeborn her grandfather whenever he should gaze upon her sister, who alone of Arwen’s daughters walked in Celebrían’s long gone likeness, silver-crowned as their grandmother had been and tall as a birch tree.

What a gift!

They walked and talked, and Eärendil asked question after question after Ariel’s family, who must be his family, too, just to hear of them from her. He proved merry enough, and easy to bring to laughter, and Ariel felt light as air.

She was on Eressëa, and she was going to meet the hobbits.

The hobbits!

Ariel had seen hobbits before, of course, for some still dwelled in Bree-land and she knew them to be Bree-hobbits, and there were those adventurous Tooks and studious Fairbairns who were often guests of her brother in Annúminas, but these were no ordinary hobbits.

These were the _Ring-bearers._

Every child of every race must surely know their names. Ariel had known them in the womb and then in the cradle, from stories told by her mother, by her father, by her uncles, by Legolas and by Gimli.

She had never thought to meet them. By the time Ariel was born, the last of the Ring-bearers had long ago passed over Sea.

And yet!

Here she was, and the Sea was singing, and the Sun was shining, and Ariel was jittery with a certain kind of excitement.

Up the grassy hillock they went, past rows of coastal blooms, and round at last to a high knoll that looked ever eastwards, and so ever homewards.

Ariel saw it and clapped her hands together. She laughed in delight. How wonderful!

There, built into the hillside, was a round green door.


End file.
